I sit my voluptuous, bulbous ass on the rack.
The hot pink light-weight to my right is always getting felt up.
Same with the turquoise hussy on my left.
I presume it’s their tight holes,
And the gloss they always wear.
But, give me a break.
I’m always up for a good spin.
So what if I’ve got a few dents and dings
And my name’s worn off my chest,
My holes can still handle anything.
Just looking for the right guy, I guess.
I keep getting picked up by every hairy Tom and Dick over 275lbs,
With stubby, fat nubs that reek of cigars and last night’s pizza.
I suppose it’s something.
The grease does always lube me up nicely.
But, c’est la vie.
The life of a 45-year old,
16 lb grey bowling ball.
Here I will collect poetry and other thoughts.